Red light encounters. (11)

I like to think there will be a day, that I won’t be harassed at a red light by a creepy man in a creepy old beat up Saab, but rather that a Westfalia of good looking, well dressed, longhairs will pull up beside me.
Perhaps they’d even be singing Tiny Dancer!
Perhaps one of them would look like Jason Lee.
Maybe he’d even invite me on the bus and encourage my singing along, not because he was desperate, but because I stared longingly and piercingly enough through the semi tinted windows of the burnt orange bus long enough to catch his eye. 

Maybe my suggestive hand gestures would intrigue him? 

Maybe I could further peak his interest if I yelled profanities? 

Maybe I could back up, flash my high beams to momentarily blind him and his friends, then proceed to advance and wave both my hands at him like I was trying to put out a fire on my window sill or trying to bring back the windshield washer dance move. 

If the windows of the bus were rolled down, I could try making that gross clicking sound with the back of my throat. 

Honking would probably work too.

He’d totally ask me to hop in…

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!

Why? 

Why is it that men in this day and age seem to think these tactics are a great way of getting a girl’s attention?   

Unless she is a clearly identified hooker, NO GIRL AT A RED LIGHT IS LOOKING FOR A RED LIGHT ENCOUNTER!

I can laugh off a childish 16 year old fooling around with his friends on his first Friday night out with a shiny new license, but this man that I encountered last night was so not 16.

Take 16 and multiply it by 3.

Maybe even by 4.
Have you learned nothing about women in your 64 years on earth you nutjob?
It wasn't even remotely chuckle-able.
It was up-chuck-able...
I would like to ask you sir, who was old enough to be my father, what exactly did you think would happen? 

That I would fall madly in love with your filthy gestures which I regretfully saw with my peripherals? 

That after you backed up far enough to shine your high beams in my rear view and proceeded to advance closer to me, that I’d jump out of my car?

Leave it right there in the middle of the street,  say “screw you Betty!”, and hop in with you? 

That sounds just the way I always imagined my happily ever after would begin...

Had his sanity been a little less questionable, I would’ve loved to show him some hand gestures of my own. Instead, I sat there singing along to Santa Clara by The National, pretending to be oblivious to ignoramus twit beside me.

So to any guys out there reading this, heed my advice and lay off the red light hootin and hollerin’. 

You think chicks are crazy for “wanting to talk about their feelings” but this….no, this is totally cool. 

Lord.